As always, thanks to ChucktheElf for beta-reading this for me.

Chapter 11: A Visit from Aunt Marge

Once the Kanns left, Holly was well and truly stuck with the Dursleys. It wasn't all bad, though. With Vernon at work, Petunia out socializing and Dudley with his friends terrorizing the neighbourhood, she had plenty of time to work uninterrupted. After re-reading Magical Drafts and Potions and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi several times, she discovered that Pepper-Up would be a possible addition to their lineup if she decreased the number of fire seeds from four to three, limiting the visible steam effects. She was also able to practise her wandless magic, though it was a great deal harder than the previous summer. And, of course, she was able to catch up on all the things she had missed while at school that Alex couldn't tell her through the internet.

It amazed her how rapidly the Muggle world changed whenever she returned. The number of changes in the last couple of years alone would be enough to occupy the average wizard for a decade. Some of the changes were interesting, others entertaining, and a few frightening. On a whim, she had even searched for 'Eternal Elixirs' but found nothing relevant to the business. She spent more than a few nights falling asleep to random videos on her new laptop before returning to more magical endeavours. By the time her birthday arrived, Holly had hardly seen the Dursleys outside mealtimes.

"... pass the bacon," Vernon was saying as she entered the kitchen that morning. They were watching the news on a brand-new television, a 'welcome-home-for the-summer' present for Dudley, who had been more ill-tempered than usual.

Holly took her seat at the table as Dudley passed the bacon with a grunt and turned back to his food.

"…should be reported immediately," said the reporter, displaying the now-familiar image of the escaped convict.

"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"

Holly resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she helped herself to breakfast.

"Two is more than enough," said Petunia abruptly when she reached for a third slice of bacon. "Do you want to get fat?"

Holly bit her tongue and withdrew her hand. There was no point in arguing—Petunia always monitored her portions much closer than Dudley's.

As she ate, she thought about what she would do for the day. There was only about a month of holiday left, so she would need to make the most of it. Ron had already agreed to have Hermione and Justin along with them to Diagon Alley, but Justin had to decline, citing family matters. That left her, Hermione, and Ron. Hopefully with Hermione there, things wouldn't be so strange with Ron.

That was another thing she had to worry about. Summer had given her space from Ron and dealing with his feelings for her, but she wouldn't be able to avoid it forever, and she'd have to tell him something soon. The question was: did she fancy Ron?

Her chewing slowed as she thought. Ron was her closest wizard friend. When she'd been alone on the train, torn between fear and excitement, he'd joined her compartment and eased her loneliness. Ron always took her mind off harsh thoughts. He explained Quidditch and was a big reason why she'd fallen for the sport. They did assignments together nearly all the time, comparing notes and theories. And he could make her laugh so hard that she'd get a stitch in her sides. He wore his heart on his sleeve and was so open. What you saw was what you got.

The thought of them together didn't repulse her. After her disastrous attempt to get Justin Finch-Fletchley's attention had failed, she did look at Ron a little longer than usual. And when he'd been 'influenced' by VoldeRiddle—as horrible as that was—he cleaned up rather nicely. His eating habits had improved, too. Even afterwards there were some rather desirable improvements to his behaviour and demeanour. He chose his words more carefully. His temper had cooled a bit. He acted more mature, now.

But it was awkward to imagine them together. It was Ron, of all people! When Riddle had revealed Ron's crush, she had been flattered, if not a bit embarrassed. And after Ron'd 'came back', she didn't know how to react. Things were terribly awkward in the hospital wing. He just didn't treat her like he used to before she found out.

And he could be so lazy. Ron was excellent for having fun with…in a completely platonic way, but he wasn't serious most of the time.

Though, how many boys were? Alex was, and Justin seemed like that sort, but most other boys were very…lackadaisical. Ron was able to complete his schoolwork, but he always waited until the last possible moment. And he was endlessly nonchalant about it in first year.

Of course, that was in first year. Ron had grown up since then. They all had, really.

A loud clatter broke her train of thought as Vernon set down his teacup. "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia," he said, glancing at his watch. "Marge's train gets in at ten."

"Aunt Marge?" she blurted out, her food settling like a stone in her stomach. "Sh—she's not coming here, is she?"

"Marge'll be here for a week," snarled Vernon, "and while we're on the subject"—he pointed a fat finger threateningly at her—"we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."

Dudley, who had turned the telly to a random cartoon channel, withdrew his gaze to watch with a smirk.

"Firstly," growled Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."

"I'll treat her the same way she treats me," said Holly bitterly.

"Secondly," said Vernon, acting as though he had not heard her, "as Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any—any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?"

"So long as she does," said Holly through gritted teeth.

"And thirdly," said Vernon, his face now purple, "we've told Marge you attend St. Mary's Reform School for Troubled Young Girls."

Holly nearly jumped out of her chair. "What?!" she yelled. "Reform school!?"

"And you'll be sticking to that story, girl, or we won't be signing anything," spat Vernon, referring to her Hogsmeade permission form that had arrived a fortnight ago.

Holly sat there, red-faced and furious, staring at Vernon, hardly able to believe it. Reform school, of all things! Did those even still exist?

Vernon then turned to Dudley. "And you, Dudley, need to keep that temper of yours under control," he said in a firm but polite tone. Dudley's smirk disappeared. "No more breaking plates or running into things, do you hear me? You're to be on your best behaviour for your Aunt. Are we clear?"

Dudley reddened and looked down at his plate. "Yeah," he muttered.

"Well, Petunia," said Vernon, getting heavily to his feet, "I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?"

"No," said Dudley, still looking down.

"Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie," said Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought him a lovely new bow tie."

Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder and left.

Once the front door slammed, Petunia turned to Holly. "Well? You heard him! Go straighten yourself up!"

Sighing, Holly left the kitchen and headed upstairs for a quick shower before returning to her room. If she was going to pretend to be a Muggle, she had to start now.

She put away her obviously magical belongings, minus a few cosmetics—Magically Clear gel varnish, a Tangle-Free Brush from Fay Dunbar that helped somewhat tame her wild hair, and a small bottle of Boil Cure potion. Then she gathered her cauldron, her vials, potion ingredients, and trunk and put them in her wardrobe.

It's a good thing these came in the mail yesterday, she thought as she looked at her correspondence worksheets. Holly had done quite well on her exams and had chosen English, Maths, Triple Science, Latin, and Economics for her iGCSE subjects. She would, in theory, learn the first five units for each class, take her midterms, and then learn the next five units for each class and take her finals. In actuality, Holly would complete the mandatory work for the first five units, take the midterms, then do the mandatory work for the second five units and take the finals. She would have access to worksheets and suggested activities for each class to help her learn and understand the material, but doing them was optional. Holly wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do when she grew up, Muggle or Magical, but hopefully, the subjects she had chosen would be a good starting point.

Once she finished, she looked around her room. Hedwig was out delivering a letter to Hermione, so her cage would have to remain in sight, but otherwise it looked like a Muggle teenage girl lived there. Not a witch.

"Do something about your hair!" snapped Petunia when Holly reached the bottom of the stairs. Holly couldn't see the point. Her hair was already braided in a single plait and she had smoothened out her grown out fringe the best she could. Besides, Marge, like Petunia, loved criticizing her, so the untidier she looked the happier she would be.

It was too late to make any changes, anyhow—all too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of the car doors and footsteps on the garden path.

When the doorbell rang, Petunia strode forward and opened the door. On the threshold stood Marge. In one hand she held an enormous suitcase and tucked under the other was an old and evil-tempered bulldog.

"Where's my Dudders?" she roared. "Where's my neffy poo?" Dudley came waddling towards her, his blond hair plastered flat to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Marge thrust the suitcase into Holly's stomach, knocking the wind out of her, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.

Holly, thankfully out of sight, rolled her eyes when Marge slipped Dudley a twenty-pound note. After Marge greeted Petunia and they all went to the kitchen, she Levitated her suitcase up the stairs to the guest bedroom, taking great glee at what their reactions would be if they ever found out. She then went to the toilet, washed her hands and looked over herself in the mirror. Here goes nothing. She brushed her fringe back again and adjusted her glasses before heading back downstairs.

Ripper began to growl when she appeared, drawing Marge's attention to Holly for the first time.

"So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?"

Unfortunately, she thought, resisting the urge to sigh as she sat. "Yes."

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," said Marge with a growl. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to foster care if you'd been dumped on my doorstep."

Holly was bursting to say that she'd rather live with strangers than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped her. She forced her face into a painful smile.

"Don't you smirk at me!" she snapped. "I can see the manners Petunia tried to teach you didn't take." Marge took a large gulp of tea she'd been given, wiped her moustache, and said, "Where is it that you send her, again, Vernon?"

"St. Alice's," said Vernon promptly. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"I see. Do they use the cane at St. Alice's? Lord knows you need it," she barked across the table.

"Er—"

Vernon nodded curtly behind Marge's back.

"Yes," said Holly. Then, feeling she might as well do the thing properly, she added, "All the time."

"Excellent, I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"

"Oh, yeah, loads of times," she said with a touch of sarcasm.

Marge narrowed her eyes. "I still don't like your tone, girl. If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve of the use of extreme force in this one's case."

Perhaps Vernon has seen the look in her eyes; in any case, he quickly changed the subject.

"Heard the news lately, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

As Marge started to make herself at home, Holly caught herself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. Vernon and Petunia usually encouraged Holly to stay out of their way, which Holly was only too happy to do. Marge, on the other hand, always wanted her under her eye, so that she could boom out 'suggestions' for her improvement. She delighted in comparing Holly with other young girls she'd been acquainted with, and kept throwing out dark hints about what made Holly such an unsatisfactory person.

"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the girl's turned out, Petunia," she said over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it. Just look at her! No proper garments at all!"

Holly tried to concentrate on her food, but her hands shook and she felt her face burn with anger.

Marge reached for her glass of red wine. "It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup. Hasn't this one turned thirteen already?"

Petunia grimaced at the reminder. "Yes, a few days ago."

"And yet there's nothing to show for it. Girls her age should already have some sort of development, yet this one could be mistaken for a nine-year-old boy. Of course, that's better than her spreading her legs for all and sundry—"

The wine glass exploded. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.

"Marge!" squealed Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?"

"Not to worry," grunted Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip..."

But the Dursleys were looking at Holly suspiciously, so she decided she'd better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as she could.

In the hall outside the kitchen, Holly leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. It had been a very long time since she'd lost control and made something explode unintentionally. She couldn't afford to let it happen again. Then she scowled. How dare that bitch comment on her development! What was the big deal with wanting to be older anyway? Having to buy proper bras was bad enough. Dealing with blemishes and periods and all that manky stuff could wait as long as possible, thank you very much. She was just fine the way she was.

She heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way.

~•~

Sequestered in her room two days later, Holly seethed as she got ready for bed. "I'm so sick of that bitch. Merlin! I wish I could brew something that would keep her from talking ever again."

The wine glass incident hadn't curbed Marge's tongue. If anything, she'd only become more outspoken. Comments about her clothes ("Why on Earth do you allow her to wear such a get up?" she asked Petunia one morning when she came down wearing a too-large T-shirt and cargo pants), comments about her body ("Thirteen is late, you know. Are you sure she hasn't started already? The girl could be hiding it," said Marge during yesterday's lunch, making everyone—namely her, Dudley, and Vernon—terribly uncomfortable. Petunia, on the other hand, joined in, saying, "My sister often bled through her sheets. I expect this one to be no different." Apparently, Petunia's desire to put down her mother was greater than her social graces), and comments about her friends ("You allow her to spend her free time with a boy?" Marge asked Petunia earlier that afternoon as they took their tea. "The boy's mother is a therapist," emphasized Petunia, and Marge quickly changed the topic). Holly had begun thinking of her upcoming summer plans whenever Marge started insulting her, but it did little to help.

"She sounds like a bigger piece of work than I remember," said Alex over speaker. "How much longer do you have to deal with her?"

"Two more days."

"Ou-ch," cracked Alex, before clearing his throat.

Holly smirked, rubbing her ears. "That's murder on the eardrums."

"Oh, shut up!"

She raised a palm in mock defeat, even though he wouldn't see it. "Just saying."

"Just wait, when this is over my voice is gonna sound g-great." He cleared his throat again. "It's just a fe-ew months."

"Whatever you say, mate."

"You'll see."

Holly let out a sigh and collapsed onto her bed, the springs digging into her back.

"What's wrong?"

Tucking her knees to her chest, Holly pulled at the end of her nightgown. "Aren't you upset that you aren't going to look or sound the same anymore? That everything is changing?" Puberty was inevitable, she knew, having been taught at primary school with the rest of her Muggle peers, but she felt far from ready for it. What was wrong with having a few more years of childhood bliss before being thrown into adulthood, which didn't seem fun at all? Growing up, it seemed, had far more negatives than positives.

"Nope. I mean, it's a little embarrassing, but once it's over we'll get loads more respect and nobody will be able to tell us what to do anymore."

But she just couldn't share her friend's optimism. "Right," she said weakly.

"And besides, it means I'm finally getting taller!"

She rolled her eyes, but Alex knew her too well to take her lack of response any other way. "Oh? Sounds like someone's—"

A chirping sound came from off-screen.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Um, nothing! I'll talk to you la-ter!"

"Bye..." she trailed off to no response. With a sigh, she rolled to the edge of her mattress and pulled her birthday gifts from under her bed.

~•~

At long last, the final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Holly's faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Vernon bored them all with a long talk about his promotion at Grunnings and the new responsibilities it entailed; then Petunia made coffee and Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.

"Can I tempt you, Marge?"

She doesn't need any tempting, Holly thought to herself annoyed as she cut into her meagre portion of dessert.

Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. "Just a small one, then," she chuckled as Vernon poured and poured. "A bit more than that…and a bit more. That's the ticket."

Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out and Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Once she finished, Holly really wanted to disappear into her bedroom, but she met Vernon's angry eyes and knew she'd have to sit it out.

"Aah," said Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after..." She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. "Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley as he reached for a fifth. "You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon…"

"Now, this one here —" She jerked her head at Holly, who felt her stomach clench. Birthday gifts, she thought quickly. "This one's got a mean, runty look about her. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred. Wouldn't be able to produce any litters."

Biting her tongue, Holly was trying to remember page twelve of the book Hermione gifted her for her birthday: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers. Surely Ron would have some ideas from Bill to add about the runes...

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia"—she patted Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one—"but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Holly was staring at her plate, a funny ringing in her ears. Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, she thought. But she couldn't remember what came next. Marge's voice seemed to be boring into her like one of Vernon's drills.

"This Potter," said Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"

Vernon and Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

"He — didn't work," said Vernon, with half a glance at Holly. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" said Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who—"

"He was not," said Holly suddenly.

The table went very quiet.

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, girl," he snarled at her. "Go to bed, go on—"

"No, Vernon," hiccupped Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Holly's. "Go on, girl, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash, drunk, I expect—"

Holly slammed her fist on the table, glaring at Marge. "They didn't die in a car crash! Don't you dare talk about my parents that way!"

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Marge, swelling with fury.

"Shut up! You knew nothing about them!" Holly screamed back, leaping to her feet.

Marge turned purple. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? You think because my brother and his wife let you run roughshod over them that you can act as you please! You are an insolent, ungrateful little slag, just like your mother—"

But Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami —

"MARGE!" yelled Vernon and Petunia together as her whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.

"NOOOOOOO!" Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Vernon's leg.

Holly ran from the dining room before anyone could stop her, heading for her room.

"PACK!"

Belongings flew into her trunk at lightning speed. She grabbed Hedwig's empty cage, and dragged the trunk down the stairs in a series of thuds, boiling with anger and panic.

Just as she reached the bottom, Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters. "COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

Rage overtook fear, and Holly pointed her glowing right index finger at him.

"She deserved it," she said, shuddering. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me." She fumbled behind for the knob on the door, keeping her eyes on a furious Vernon. "I've had enough of this shit."

And in the next moment, she was out in the dark, quiet, street walking as fast as she could from Number 4 Privet Drive.